


when you say my name

by Teddy0414



Category: If We Were Villains - M.L. Rio
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, lack of shakespeare quotes, third person Oliver POV, yes it's another reunion fic what are you going to do about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddy0414/pseuds/Teddy0414
Summary: to look for him is nothing more than desperation, but when it comes to James, Oliver never knew when to quit-or: Oliver finds James a little more broken than he'd thought he would, but it doesn't matter, because he's there to stay.
Relationships: James Farrow/Oliver Marks
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

Oliver tried to pretend the note meant nothing, tried to pretend it was just clutching at straws in the hopes of not being swallowed up by his grief, but he couldn’t. The monologue haunted his every waking step. He could hear James’ voice whispering it on the wind when he went out for lonely walks. It was like going mad all over again.

He finally gave in. Called Meredith, told her he wanted a vacation, insisted he didn’t want company. Called Pip, told her not to worry if he didn’t answer his phone, insisted that everything was alright. Called Colborne, convinced him to help make arrangements for a flight across the country, insisted it was just about wanting to be on the move after being locked up for so long. It was the same daze that had fallen over him in the days after his arrest, a strange fog that he had to keep pushing through even when he had no idea where he was going or what he would find when he got there. 

It had been more than ten years, and that was a long time to go anywhere from memory, but after a lot of desperate asking for directions and an unbearably awkward phone call with James’ father, he found himself back at the beach sometime after sundown. It was empty.

He didn’t know what he’d expected to find. James waiting there for him like this was some sort of fairy tale reunion? The real world didn’t work that way. The smart thing to do would have been to go into town and find somewhere to stay, but instead, he fell asleep on the beach the same way they had done so many years ago.

Nightmares twisted his memories around. His mind dredged up those final moments on the stage, only this time James shoved him away instead of kissing him. He saw himself reaching slowly into the water to look for Richard’s pulse, only to have Richard’s corpse come to life and grab him by the throat, stealing the air out of his lungs. He saw James the way he had been at the Christmas masque, kissing Wren; only this time when the two of them turned around he was kissing Meredith instead, and the cold smile he directed at Oliver didn’t feel like James at all. 

He jolted awake. The sun wasn’t up yet, and even though it felt like the day would be warm, Oliver found himself shivering. He sat there for a long time, staring out at the water and thinking about nothing and everything. He couldn’t have explained what he was waiting for. James wasn’t going to come out of the depths of the sea. It was only hours later, when the morning sun was beating down on his face hard enough to give him a headache that he decided to move.

The nearest town was only a short drive away, some small, meaningless place he’d probably driven through when he had last come here with James all those years ago. His head was pounding from the night before, and coffee would have done him more good than anything else; but true to character as he was, he got directions to the town’s bookstore before he did anything else. 

The bookstore was one small shop in a long strip of them, just one level of what seemed to be the latest popular fiction and a few old classic titles. It didn’t really matter to Oliver. He wasn’t here to buy anything, but even a small bookstore like this felt like a sanctuary.

The girl behind the counter seemed content enough to leave him alone. She was busy reading something too, though Oliver didn’t recognize the title. He was craning his neck and trying to read the books shelved right by the door when it opened, letting in warm air. Oliver turned almost instinctively, and froze.

The face staring back at him in equally undisguised shock was familiar. Older, but still the same. Sadder, but still the same. James let the door swing shut, and it hit him in the shoulder. Neither of them said anything. Oliver had thought about what he might say when he saw James again for  _ years,  _ but now that they were here, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

James looked at Oliver, looked at the girl behind the counter, and ran. 

It took Oliver a moment to understand what was happening. The girl said something to him, but he didn’t hear it. Only one thing mattered: James was  _ alive.  _ Oliver dashed out after him, tripping over his own feet on the uneven sidewalk. James was already halfway down the parking lot, but desperation gave him speed he didn’t know he had, and he managed to grab him by the shoulder and turn him around.

“James, I— you—” Words were failing him again, and for once, no quotes rose up to fill the gap. “ _ Please.”  _

Oliver didn’t know what he was asking for, didn’t know what he would do if James decided to shove him away now the way he had in last night’s dream. Oliver would probably fall if he pushed him. He always had.

James didn’t pull away. This close, he looked especially pale, almost sickly. There was a hollow look about him, one that Oliver wished he didn’t remember. James stared up at him unblinkingly, as if searching for something. He must have found whatever he was looking for, because he started to say something, but all he could manage was Oliver’s name before his voice gave way to strangled sobs. 

Oliver took a hesitant step closer, and then another. He was terrified that James would run away or disappear or shove him back, but when he took a third step, James hugged him so tightly it hurt. Oliver hadn’t expected to find James in the best of places, but this broke his heart. 

“It’s alright,” Oliver whispered, squeezing James back, almost as if he could stick him back together that way. James was mumbling incoherent apologies now, and each one made Oliver’s heart hurt more than the last. He didn’t know when he’d started crying too. “It’s alright. Really, it is. You don’t have to be sorry about any of it.”

James laughed against his shoulder. “How can you say that?” he asked, his voice very small. “I should have— after  _ everything— _ ” Oliver could feel James shaking against him. “Why are you here, Oliver?”

After all this time, did that question really need an answer?

“I got your letter,” he said, pulling away from James just enough to be able to meet his eyes. “I thought I was going insane, looking for a message where there was none, but—” He shook his head. “Do you know what it was like? To come out of prison and be told that you—the one person that I wanted to see after all this time—was  _ gone?” _

Another apology appeared to be on the tip of James’ tongue, but Oliver raised a hand to keep him from speaking. “I’ve been in Chicago these past few months.” He didn’t need to say with who, and he could see James’ face start to drain of what little colour it had left. “But when I got your letter… James, you’re a fool if you think after all this time it wasn’t you I wanted to come back to.” 

James pulled away, and Oliver was almost scared he would bolt again, but he just stared down at the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I  _ had  _ to get away. I couldn’t— seeing you in that cell, knowing you were there because of  _ me—  _ I couldn’t live that. I was going to—” He couldn’t seem to say it, and Oliver was glad that he didn’t. “I just couldn’t, I couldn’t do that either.”

“So you wrote that note, vanished into thin air, and let everyone think you were dead?” Oliver asked. It came out sounding harsher than he had meant to. “And what do you do now? Live here in the middle of nowhere all by yourself?”

It might have felt better if James lashed out at him in return, but he just nodded. “You can hate me,” he said quietly. “God knows I hate myself.” 

He knew he had every right to hate James, but how could he? Here was the one person in the world he’d never been able to stay angry at. “James,” he said gently, taking one of his hands. “I love you. I’ve loved you for over a decade now. I love you and I want you to be alright. I want you to have better than this. I want  _ us  _ to have better than this. What happened is done now. I did the time, it’s over. We can leave it behind us.”

James was quiet for almost a minute, then a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You really forgive me?” he asked, as if he couldn’t believe it. Oliver knew he wouldn’t, knew it would take weeks, maybe even months before he could be convinced, but Oliver wasn’t going anywhere. 

He squeezed James’ hand. “Always.”

* * *

Oliver waited in his rental car while James went to tell the girl in the bookshop he needed the day off. He looked a little calmer now as he slid into the passenger seat, but Oliver could see the way he clenched and unclenched his fists. 

“Tell me about what you’ve been doing,” said Oliver. He put them back on the road that went toward the beach, and though James looked a little sick when he first seemed to realize where they were going, he didn’t protest. 

“Just what you said,” said James. He shrugged as though it didn’t bother him at all, but Oliver could tell that it did. “It’s… not much.”

That wasn’t an answer at all. “When was the last time you went near a stage?” asked Oliver.

James flinched, almost as if just hearing about a stage hurt him. “I haven’t been— not since—” 

He couldn’t finish his sentence, but Oliver didn’t need him to. He took one hand off the wheel and threaded his fingers through James’. “It’s okay,” he said gently. It wasn’t. To imagine James—the best and the brightest of them all—in a place like this, where the theater was nothing more than a distant thing, was wrong. “You’re here, that’s enough.”

The silence that followed felt like forever, and when James spoke again, he sounded even more fragile than before. “What are we going to do now, Oliver?”

The implication that they were going to do whatever came next together made Oliver  _ really  _ smile for the first time that day. “I’ll stay here with you,” he said, then added after a moment too long, “if you want me to, and if this is really where you want to stay.”

“I don’t know,” admitted James, then, more softly, “but I’m glad you came.”

His words lifted a weight off Oliver’s shoulders. Somewhere in all the tears and apologies, he had wondered if James had ever wanted to be found. He turned his head to look at the same time as James did, and the moment felt so dramatic that he had to laugh. For now, things felt perfect: James’ hand in his, James laughing, James  _ alive.  _

“I’m glad you want me here,” Oliver replied. He suggested the next part hesitantly, not wanting James to clam up again. “You could come back with me, if you want. Not to Meredith’s, of course, but we could find our own place somewhere? Pip said—”

“No,” said James immediately, shaking his head. “No, I can’t tell them. They’ll hate me even more than they already do. Please, you can’t tell any of them. I can’t face them, not yet.”

“They don’t hate you, James,” he said gently. He thought of how sad Filippa had looked as she broke the news to him. “They just miss you.” 

James looked out of the windows, refusing to meet Oliver’s eyes. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “I’ve been scared ever since that night, and no matter what I do, that fear follows me around. It’s like fear and guilt are all I’m made up of now.”

Oliver found himself relieved that James still had a sense of drama left somewhere, and even more relieved that he was using his own words to voice it. James was himself now, and no matter how broken, that was all Oliver wanted. “You can’t keep running,” he said, and a surge of affection rose up inside him. “We’ll face this together, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” said James softly. Oliver couldn’t tell if he believed it. 

Oliver turned his attention back to the road, and pulled into the mostly empty parking lot near the beach. James followed him out of the car, and after a moment of hesitation, took his hand again. Oliver’s heart stopped for a few seconds. 

James stiffened as soon as they stepped onto the sand, so Oliver didn’t try to take them any further. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. He didn’t know if it was what James needed to hear, but he needed to say it. He couldn’t put into words how much it meant to be able to put his grief aside. “I’m so, so glad you’re here.”

James turned so they were facing each other. His eyes were glassy with tears, but he seemed more relieved than sad. “I love you,” he said finally. It wasn’t a poetic confession, but it was all Oliver needed to hear. 

He bent down to kiss James, and where their last kiss had been full of pain, this one was full of hope. 


	2. Chapter 2

They sat on the beach all day, James tucked against Oliver’s side, head resting on his shoulder. Oliver drew the last few years out of him in bits and pieces. His own story he kept short, focusing more on his meeting with Colborne than he did on the last four years in prison, or the last few months with Meredith. There was no need to hurt James any more than he already was. 

Oliver glanced up at the sky as the sun began to set. “Where do you stay?” he asked, but what he really meant was  _ is it okay if I stay with you? _

“I’ve got a small apartment in town,” James said. He traced patterns in the sand with his free hand, the other still holding onto Oliver’s. Almost shyly he added, “It’s not much, but there’s enough room for two.” 

“It sounds perfect,” said Oliver, and he meant it. “Do you want to go back? Or should we sleep here in the sand again?”

The last question had been meant as a joke, but an expression halfway between melancholy and nostalgia flitted across James’ face, and he shook his head. “Maybe another time.”

Oliver understood, and if he was honest with himself, after how little sleep he’d gotten these past few nights he looked forward to the benefits of a real bed again. “Whenever you want,” he said. He pulled himself to his feet and offered James a hand up. 

They walked back to the car hand in hand, and the silence felt comfortable. It reminded Oliver of how they had once been able to sit on opposite ends of the same room for hours, poring over their books with unmatched enthusiasm. They were different people now, but not  _ so  _ different. 

James didn’t talk much on the drive back to town either, only quietly directing Oliver when he had to. Oliver glanced at him out of the corner of his eye from time to time. James was staring out of the window and lost in thought, and Oliver thought he looked content, if a little guilty. Oliver couldn’t even begin to guess what was going through his head. 

“That’s it,” said James, as Oliver pulled up in front of an apartment building that looked average in every way possible. There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but some part of Oliver was still used to thinking of James as surrounded by fine, grand things. He should have been too good for a place like this, and the startling realization that he didn’t seem to be was unsettling.

“I think it’ll do just fine,” said Oliver. Anywhere would be alright, now that he had James with him. James fumbled with the keys, and when he opened the door, Oliver’s assumption was only reaffirmed. It would do just fine.

The apartment reminded Oliver of James’ room in his California home so many years ago: perfectly equipped with all necessities (though this one was decidedly less fancier than that had been), but not at all lived in. Oliver tried not to think about what that said about James’ state of mind. “Do you want to keep living here?” he asked.

James shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. Something about his tone didn’t invite further questioning. He left his shoes by the door and poured himself a glass of water. “You should go freshen up, you must be exhausted.” 

Oliver couldn’t entirely push away the nonsensical thought that if he left, James would disappear. It was foolish, reminiscent of something he would have thought a decade ago, but the longer he thought about it the harder it became to let it go. “I’m fine,” he insisted. 

“I’ll still be here when you get back out,” said James, sounding faintly amused. He must have seen something in Oliver’s expression, because he set his glass down on the counter and came back to stand in front of Oliver. “I promise.”

It was enough for Oliver. He threw his duffel bag on one side of the small bedroom and dug out a spare change of clothes to take into the washroom with him. He didn’t know how long he spent under the shower, but the warm water washed away some of the strangeness of the day. When he came back outside, James was already lying in bed, but Oliver couldn’t tell if he was actually asleep or just pretending. 

He turned out the light and settled in carefully, trying not to jostle the bed too much in case James really was asleep. He turned on his side and tried to get comfortable in the unfamiliar room. He had almost drifted off when the mattress moved under him. James shifted—far too deliberately for him to actually be asleep—and tucked his head against Oliver’s shoulder. Oliver couldn’t move, could hardly breathe for fear of scaring James off. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” whispered James. Oliver could hear the smile in his voice.

“Me neither,” he whispered back. When he closed his eyes this time, it was much easier to drift off to sleep. 

* * *

The next week blurred into a series of moments that felt perfect: morning runs, afternoons spent talking either in the apartment or while James worked in the mostly-dead bookstore, evenings spent on the beach. Oliver treasured every moment, even the less than perfect ones. Despite James’ reassurances, he couldn’t shake the anxiety that every kiss, every brush of their hands, every conversation could be their last. 

The longer they spent together, the easier it became to ignore that sinking feeling of dread. It was a warm summer Saturday when Oliver finally dared to think of a  _ real  _ future: one that involved the two of them out in the world beyond this small corner where no one would ever know them.

He was stretched out on the couch while James made them both coffee when the picture came to him: the two of them in some small apartment in New York or Chicago, working in a bookstore, or as stagehands, or maybe even being on stage again when James could bring himself to again. He was so absorbed in this daydream of the future that he had no idea why James was suddenly looking at him expectantly. 

“Sorry, what?” he asked.

“I asked you if you wanted something to eat, and then I asked you if you were going to tell me what you were thinking about,” James said, leaving Oliver’s cup of coffee on the table and squeezing himself onto the couch so they were sitting toe to toe. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, because everything was. 

James knew him too well to simply let the matter drop. He nudged Oliver with his foot. “I don’t believe you. Come on, what is it? You can tell me, I won’t break.”

“You know me too well,” said Oliver, but he was almost glad of it. “Just thinking about the future, what we’re going to do. This place is nice, James, but is this really where you want to stay forever? I’ll stay if that’s what you really want, but I can’t just disappear too. I have to tell the others  _ something. _ ”

James had a guarded look about him now, but he didn’t seem surprised. Oliver supposed they had both known this conversation was coming sooner or later. “I know,” James said, his voice pained. “I don’t know what you should tell them. After all this time… can’t we just stay here a little bit longer?”

Oliver did not think it was intentional, or that James was even aware of it, but he looked so fragile again that Oliver didn’t have the heart to refuse. “A little bit longer,” he agreed. It was what he wanted anyway, and the two of them had always been a little too good at pretending their problems didn’t exist. 

* * *

Their blissful oblivion continued another four days, and Oliver couldn’t claim to regret it. Every laugh he drew out of James made those spare moments worth it. James was still laughing at Oliver’s impression of a meaningless incident from his time in prison when Oliver’s phone rang. Oliver turned the phone towards James to show him the contact flashing across the screen:  _ Pip. _

James took Oliver’s free hand, squeezing it so tightly it hurt. He nodded once, and Oliver took that as his cue to pick up the phone. “Hey?”

There was a rushing sound on the other side, as if Filippa was in a car. “Oliver, where are you?” she asked. “I know you said you wanted a break, but you hadn’t answered any of my messages in the last five days and— well, I was worried.”

Oliver wanted to remind her that he’d told her there was no reason to worry, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. “Nothing to worry about,” he said. He’d kept his phone off most of the time. There was no need for it when James was the one he wanted to talk to most, and James was always right there. “I’ve just been distracted.”

James looked like he was going to be sick, and Oliver didn’t know if it was because he could hear Filippa’s voice over the phone or because he dreaded where the conversation would go.

“Look,” said Oliver, trying not to sound too impatient, “I’m in California. I’ll be here a few more days, alright? Then I’ll come back and pay you a visit. I just need a little time.” 

It was a painfully easy lie to tell, and easier still for Filippa to believe. “Alright,” she said, and she sounded gentler now. “Let me know when you’re back and I’ll come pick you up.”

“I will,” said Oliver. “Bye.” 

Oliver was almost certainly sure that she could tell something was wrong, given how abrupt he was being. She knew him well enough to tell when something was wrong, and obviously knew him well enough to know when not to push. 

“What do I do?” asked James. He still sounded scared and uncertain, but he seemed more determined than fragile now. He looked at Oliver the same way he had been these past days: with a mixture of love and gratitude and something else that made Oliver’s brain stop working for a few seconds. 

“How do you feel about coming back to Chicago with me?” asked Oliver. Before James could protest he quickly added on, “We can take it slowly.” What he really meant was  _ you don’t have to talk to Meredith right away.  _ He did, though. He couldn’t just leave her without an explanation. “Filippa would have kept your secret all those years ago, James. You know that. She’ll keep your secret now if you want her to.”

James considered his offer for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll come with you, if you’re sure it’ll be alright.”

Oliver had absolutely no idea if it would be, but he knew he’d hate it if he never even bothered to try. He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to James’ forehead. “Of course it’ll be alright.”

  
  



End file.
